


My Gratitude to Your Clemency

by RavenaboveStreetlight



Series: VTMB pieces and kinky smut [3]
Category: Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Multi, Not Threesome, Unhealthy Relationships, hatred and weird emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22979545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenaboveStreetlight/pseuds/RavenaboveStreetlight
Summary: The protagonist had turned on Camarilla. As his new alignment took the city, he personally took the former prince."You wanted me dead, and I want you ruined."
Relationships: Heather Poe/Original Male Character, Sebastian LaCroix/Original Male Character(s)
Series: VTMB pieces and kinky smut [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1430362
Kudos: 13





	My Gratitude to Your Clemency

**Author's Note:**

> The protagonist is not the character we could play-he's what I need to have some sadist fun with Sebastian (For the first time, I, have played through Bloodlines and got an ending! Have to say that our fledgling is a lovely naive and straightforward guy)  
> Just like "For Everything about Blood", this story simply assumes that two sects warred and the Sabbat won, so, no blood hunt on the OC closer to the end, and many late period events should be different from the game, but early period might be the same.  
> The Heather/OC relationship is unhealthy (well, seems not very healthy in the game as well), and LaCroix/OC may be unhealthier
> 
> I have a pic with text "TEST" on it inserted. It is irrelevant to the story, Just to see whether people can see my pics. If your feedback is "yes", I will delete it, and may post illustrations or little comics in the future. If you cannot see it, I will delete it, and, well, I don't know what to do then.

Looking over his city was supposed to be good experience.

_Not_ when he was shoved against the window, his arms bent behind him and his wrists tied together.

Those hands pushed him in such a harsh manner that he was nearly worried about falling down across or with the whole window and ending up a mess of blood and flesh on the ground far below.

L.A. in night looked so beautiful, so normal. Looked like everything it was not now. To LaCroix.

“When I was sneaking up this building, I noticed that we got a lovely view tonight.” Said the fledgling, “So I abandoned my first plan, I mean, let your ash rest on the surface of your dear old Mesopotamian coffin. It could make the best bed for your eternal rest…” he pinned LaCroix there with amazing strength- how could he become so _powerful_? And more importantly, how could he turn into such a terrible betrayer! “… I decided that you shall appreciate L.A. from this height for one last time, Camarilla Prince.”

Camarilla Prince.

Sounded like the fledgling was already very well in his new character… LaCroix could not figure when the younger Kindred began to take this identity, for he never cared for him. Now as the little chess piece revealed its changed color, the former player blamed himself for not executing the neonate at the very beginning.

“You are a _Ventrue_!” LaCroix exaggerated the disbelief in his voice. Of course he knew there were antitribu. Just let the fledgling think him all desperate, maybe the grip would not remain so damn firm then. “How could you? Aligned with _those fiends!_ ’

“How could I not?” chuckled the young clanmate of his, “I seem to have every reason to be an enemy of the man who shows me great clemency by having my sire killed, setting ‘sunrise’ as the code of my computer, giving me every suicide mission and using me to achieve an end not even allowed in his own alignment.”

“They are monsters.” LaCroix struggled, but the actions only added his own pain. His wounds - thanks to the fledgling, too - ached, _burnt_.

“They are honest.”

And now they are winners, gripping the city with their inhuman claws.

_His_ city.

The younger one laid one hand on his belt, moving around, searching for the clip.

“Just what are you doing?”

“What do you think I am doing?”

LaCroix knew. A rather traditional means to insult your enemy.

His ears registered the noise of frictions, his mind filled with fear, but he could not shake the other away. Even if he did push him aside for a while, then what? Now the fledgling threw the belt away, in reward of a crisp sound of the metal buckle hitting the floor.

“No, no, you-ah-you can’t!”

The other did not bother himself to respond to LaCroix’s protest at all. He squished the loosened cloth, pulled the trousers down along with the underwear, caressed the bared skin, and fisted one hand around LaCroix’s symbol of male.

-Technically, they were dead now, no longer capable of producing any progeny through sex, but still he considered himself male and that organ important. Uninvited touch was unbearable, though the touch was so gentle, so unexpectedly light and careful. LaCroix was sure that could be anything but kindness, so he kept his vitae elsewhere.

_In the torso, or the limbs…just not where the other wanted._

The other man just continued the soft strokes, his fingers elegant as a blueblood’s should be, smooth as their undead nature could keep them after no matter how many chores.

His haircut had been more than a mess, his expensive garments creased and frayed by those ropes. Several cuts were so deep that even now he tasted his own blood in the air. Pants falling to his calves, and the delicate penis was held in that playful hand of his enemy-Everything mirrored in the glass backgrounded by the night sky hurt, like thorny lines wrapping around his heart, making him suddenly want no reflection. He squeezed his eyes close, but the other hand of his capturer caught him and forced his eyelids to rise.

“See our city,” The voice was whispering, vocal folds not vibrating at all, “see her and know. Ours, now.”

When LaCroix tried hard to ignore the comfortable appeal, he found the smell of blood more and more obvious. They had been so close, and the other man felt impossibly warm. He thought of his security troops, strong living men full of vitality, which must be now store of the young vampire. Gone was his Sheriff, too, turned into ashes, to protect him until the very end.

Those fingers caressed the soft shaft, dancing around, tempting him to guide his remaining blood there for more sensation. It was becoming more difficult to resist. Everything he could focus on now was screaming _you are a failure_ to him.

Looking at his lost city with his forced open eyes, he painfully bit himself.

“Give in and shorten the time you suffer.” The fledgling must become impatient, though he spoke with twisted joy, “Go on with your denial and I will stake you here for a beautiful sunrise. His Excellency the Archbishop has told me about how to impale a man on…something more unbearable than my dick-”

“Stop this! Kill me.” LaCroix said angrily and gasped, as the younger Ventrue’s actions became more brutal.

“Come on, prince. Let us be honest to each other: you do not really want to die,” the young one playfully rubbed the head of his victim’s erection,” and I really want you to cry. ”

That sent quivers down LaCroix’s spine.

There might be undead creatures longing for a true rest, but he was definitely not one of them. Every night during all the decades after his Embrace simply strengthened the desire to survive. From the beginning, he had known it well; otherwise, he would have gone frenzy and fought to death by now.

The other’s reflection smiled in the glass, and his hand took out a bag of blood, which tempted LaCroix’s hunger harder.

“See, I am as considerate as my generous former employer.”

“You can’t know my weakness.” LaCroix widened his eyes.

“Little problem.” answered a merry voice, “It is _my_ blood. Vampiric vitae would always serve, wouldn’t it?”

He swallowed hard, and did drink when the bag was offered to his mouth. Bloodbond was of course a risk, but his condition was worse than the first threshold would do anyway. As the ambrosia flowed down his throat, fragments of the younger one's emotions came as well. There was pride, desire, caution and sadness-surprising that the victor was somehow _sad_. Supernatural fondness rose soon, and clashed against his disgust and anger.

As blood strengthened sensity, he could no longer ignore the strokes the fledgling gave. The other hateful hand found its way to his exposed hips, leaving marks of squeezing. Reluctantly he panted and rasped shamefully, and arched his back at the sensation. Pleased or tempted further by his reaction, the fledglig became more and more brutal, almost theatrical, as if starring the dude who raped Lucretia on stage.

He braved himself for a hard fuck, but it did not came soon, only tense accumulating. When a finger rubbed his entrance at last, he felt like sweating edspite the impossibility.

"You are too fucking tight," the fledgling complained as the first knuckle immediately got stuck. He spanked him before went on playing with the little rim of flesh, "open up, otherwise," in an instant, sharp nails of their kind declared their existence against skin, "I open you up with claws."

"Are you loose then, you devil-" LaCroix shouted, then choked by a strong arm around his neck. The finger thrust into him, causing an uncomfortable stretch. Thinking of the claw set him on a knife edge. He prayed that a new member of the Sword of Caine was not so insane as long-term ones, and to his release, when a second finger was added, he was sure that there was no sign of claws. It was just stretching, and he liked it- _No fucking possible! It was not he! It was the BLOOD of the other Kindred_ -the vitae he drank just now exciting, thrilled to tease him. The fledgling was enjoying the sight of him squirming awkwardly and moaning from his chest, and a part of that joy burnt in his veins.

He closed his eyes again at the sight of himself, breathy and shaking in the glass. This time there were no spare hands to force him to look, but without his sight, the sensations were more. Sensation from his body, also from the other's blood. Fingers dug and pressed his inwards, and sometimes spun with dark chuckles from behind. The friction tortured him with pain and terror, the chuckles with grrat humilation. Very small moans escaped him.

The fledgling added a third finger, but withdrew his hand before long. LaCroix's body tensed again in anticipation of his cock, but the touch that actually came a few moments later was much more smooth than human skin. Something thick and hard, with a perfectly round head.

"Damn you-wha-such indignity!" He struggled desperately to speak clearly. How could it be? Raped by a TOY? A lifeless object?

"You don't think that you deserve my member, do you?" The young Ventrue laughed aloud as he pushed the prince firmly against the window and pressed the lubricated thing into the helpless body.

* * *

Heather didn’t like Evan’s new friends much. Some of them looked so…abnormal, but Evan said they were his comrades, and then they were. _Anything is OK if Evan says so. Everything is fine as long as Evan is there._

He came back to where he told her to stay and wait, which she obeyed. Blood and dust almost recolored his whole outfit, though he looked not tired- _his kind_ would not get tired unless due to lack of blood.

“Alright, let’s go.” Evan said with an unusual edge in his voice. He had gone alone, but came back with someone whose chest did not rise nor fall all the time.

A blonde young man, with aristocratic high cheekbones, sharp lines, sculptured frame, beautiful even when he was dead, so pale, so still, and ...abused. The classical coat was ruined by long cuts. The quality of the shirt and trousers lived on only in the fine fabric that had almost become rag. Most of his bared skin was marred and tainted. There was a coarse wood stake stuck in his chest, clearly aiming at the heart. Heather noticed that there were no swellings. The blonde got all the abuse after he had become a corpse.

“Who did this to the poor man?” She did not ask why he decided to take a corpse back.

“I did.” A calm answer left Evan’s lips.

“Why?” Suddenly she was more curious than feeling bad for the stranger.

“For he is the head vampire. Kill him and we all will be human again.” As he spoke, Evan casually threw the lifeless body into the car.

“Re-really?” For a short instant, the prospect of Evan living with her in a happy family lit her face. If the only need is to…

“My dear, you won’t believe if I talk about unicorn blood, right? He’s actually the boss of one side, and I’m now member of the other side-no, Heather, don’t go near him. He’s more than the helpless boy he looks like.”

“Thought he was dead.”

“As dead as I am,” Evan sat down before the wheel, “and also picky regarding dinner flavours. Can’t believe I’m going to prepare refreshment for him for days, or maybe weeks.”

“Before you kill him?” Heather gave the body another glance before sitting beside Evan.

“Before I kick him out of L.A.” Evan started the car, “Old bastard. Really needs to know what it’s like to struggle alone. I won’t let him die so easily.”

“Yes,” she said softly, “your pain should be known…”

_I understand it’s just an excuse, my dear. You take pity on him. You are the hero who saved me for no benefits at all._

“My boss’ occupied with the Tremere chantry thing. Hope he does not care about a useless prince much…” Evan said with half attention, “Once the Tremere fall, they will relax, and I will throw this arrogant asshole out of the city…”

Heather did not hear most of his words clearly, but she did not care much, as they did not include any tasks of hers. Things would be fine, and even if not fine, she would be there to assist him.

END


End file.
